Dear Friends of SJV:
It has been a historic month as we have welcomed the fifth rector of St. John Vianney Seminary, Fr. Ángel Pérez-López. His first days have brought a new energy and exciting vision to bear on our community. Prior to his installation on the feast of St. Joseph, we had a farewell lunch for Fr. Daniel Leonard, who served with dedication and pastoral care as rector for the last eight years.
Our annual Stafford Lecture occasions a moment where we gather as an academic community to engage the insights of an expert in the philosophical or theological field. This year it was tagged team by Fr. Tim Gallagher and his brother Dr. David Gallagher. We look forward to sharing a link to this recorded series as soon as it is available.
We begin our final Lenten push towards Easter with April reflections from seminarians Shae Bills and Deacon Aaron Alford. As always, please know of our prayers and continued gratitude for your support.
Fr. John
Cold Hands
You cannot fly fish with cold hands.
One morning in November when I was 13, my father, who is an excellent angler, took me out fly fishing. The high temperature for the day was 9 degrees Fahrenheit. This tells you a lot about my dad.
To successfully fly fish – that is to catch fish – one must have adequate dexterity for a multitude of operations. The sport requires constant knot tying (and untying), perfect control over the fly line, a balanced grip of the fly rod, and the proper holding of trout after you lift them from the water. When the temperature is 9 degrees and your wet hands are exposed to the cool air, these actions become much more difficult to perform.
Despite the suboptimal conditions, my dad pulled fish after fish into the net, with his seemingly unaffected bare hands exposed to the chilly winter breeze. His unmistakable laughter echoed in the breathless November air. The cold didn’t faze him.
I couldn’t say the same for myself. A few hundred yards downstream I sat on a snowbank with my hands tucked into my armpits, wondering if I would ever feel them again. Catching a 20-inch brown trout was the last thing on my mind.
Seeing the miserable state I was in, my father made his way towards me. I was ready to leave and hoped he was too.
Instead, he asked me to stick out my frozen hands. He pressed them between his own, and began to move his hands back and forth, creating friction. I felt warmth begin to flow from his hands to mine. Perhaps I would keep my fingers after all.
He then gave me his favorite wool gloves and sent me back out to fish again.
This is what fathers – biological, spiritual, and heavenly – do. They nourish the life of their children and provide the resources necessary for them to continue their journey.
So, when you’re out fishing, keep your father close by.
Cold hands can’t warm themselves.
Shae Bills
Seminarian, Diocese of Helena
A Terrifying Darkness
As the sun was about to set, a trance fell upon Abram, and a deep, terrifying darkness enveloped him. -Genesis 15:12
Darkness is always on the edge of hope, and darkness always hides a promise.
Abram had been told he was going to have descendants as numerous as the stars, but God hadn’t yet ratified that promise. So God instructs Abram to prepare the traditional sacrifices for two parties to make a blood covenant. Before the sun sets, a darkness falls on Abram. A deep, “terrifying darkness” in which he cannot see those stars of the promise. Then God passes through the sacrifice, covenanting with Abram, and Abram hears his voice. The darkness had hidden God himself.
Centuries later, Moses also entered a thick darkness, “where God was.” (Ex. 20:21) In the New Testament, God appears in the darkness yet again. From noon until three, as Christ is making a new covenant in his own blood, “the sun stopped shining.” (Luke 23:45) God himself enters into the terrifying darkness when Christ cries out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Jesus enters into the darkness of death.
But on the third day, there is light a flash of light in the tomb. God had symbolically passed through death in his covenant with Abram; Christ passed through death in actuality. The new covenant, then, far surpasses Abram’s, and we are children of that covenant.
If you are the fulfillment of a promise, will God not keep his promises to you? Even in the terrifying darkness, you are on the verge of life and light, for it’s there that he is with you.
Deacon Aaron Alford
Seminarian, Diocese of Gallup
